Could the clowns on The Real Housewives of New York get any less glamorous? Every week it’s like a competition to see which of these harridans will fall just that much shorter of her power-tripping status goals. I will tell you this, if I gave a shit about the things that matter to these women most: money, the Hamptons, social status, or ugly dresses, I would not be caught within ten miles of this show. In this clip from next week’s new episode (exclusive! I’m a power player. Kiss the ring. Sorry, just kidding, this shit is pretty boring), the ugly one and the gay one get ready to go to a make believe social event I think they just invented at the Imaginarium.
First of all, these guys live in Brooklyn. ABOUT FIVE BLOCKS FROM ME. Obviously, I live an incredible life of luxury and success, but seriously? Get a grip, real housewife of the outer boroughs. Secondly, your husband is gay. And third, no. Nope. Ten thousand dollars for a ticket to the Met. That shit is suggested donation, joke is on you. Why do I do this to myself? I know why I do it to you (it is torture, and torture is funny), but why me?